


Husband to the Queen

by Impala_Chick



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Banter, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Metafiction, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 02, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: When King Henry dies from a jousting accident, Queen Anne mourns along with the entire Kingdom. But the King left very specific instructions in his will, and Anne is not happy with the terms. The recently widowed Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, is none too pleased either.





	Husband to the Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarastark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/gifts).



> An AU from Season Two, Episode Eight. Also canon divergent in that Catherine Howard has died prior to this.
> 
> Anne Boleyn has always been one of my favorite historical figures too! Thanks so much for this prompt and the chance to write about her. I hope you enjoy.

Anne shuddered, but could not bring herself to turn away from Henry's body as the funeral procession came past her. The immense weight of grief settled on Anne’s shoulders, heavier than the black cloak that she wore over her black mourning gown. 

She could see him clearly through the translucent white cloth that was draped over him. Henry’s skin was pasty and white, and his lips were painted an unnatural pink. The crown still shined brilliantly from the top of his head, as it always did when he was alive. Anne could hear the people gathered around her sniffling and sobbing, as if they were realizing for the first time that King Henry VIII was never to rule again.

As she turned to the front of the church, she was surprised to hear her father and brother crying softly to her left. She could not tell if their grief was genuine, for no one would benefit from the King’s death more than the pair of them. She knew her father had already been named Lord Protector, and she felt uneasy by the notion. Surely it was herself, as Queen of England and mother of Queen Elizabeth, who should carry the weight of the Crown alongside her grief. And not for the sake of power itself, but because surely Henry would wish it to be so.

She had already cried for her love, her husband, her _King_. Now, the tears would not come. She was surrounded by Englishmen who were strangers to her, and Lords and Ladies who had never truly supported her marriage, and Anne felt so lost. She wasn’t sure what her life would be like from that day forward.

She felt eyes watching her, and turned slightly to her right to see Charles Brandon. His anger and disappointment were evident by the way he stiffly held his hands clasped in front of his body, and glared at her with his lips pressed tightly together. He was standing across the aisle from her, in the front row of the church. She did not know how long he had been staring at her, but she would not let him see weakness. 

She wondered whether he doubted her despair at Henry's death. He had always thought she was just a heartless tart, bloodthirsty for power. But it wouldn’t matter what he thought. Now that the King was dead, he was just another Duke, no more special than any other. She raised her chin slightly, and turned back to Henry’s body, as the Archbishop of Canterbury began the service.

\----

Anne should have assumed that even from the grave, Henry could surprise her.

“No. Read it again,” Anne said, her voice cold and disbelieving. 

Cromwell cleared his throat and glanced over at her from the top of the unrolled parchment, careful to keep his face neutral. And then he began again.

“By order of His Royal Majesty King Henry VIII, her royal Majesty Queen Anne of England shall marry His Grace the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, so that His Grace the Duke of Suffolk can serve as a father to those children sired by King Henry VIII.”

Anne heard a man groan, and assumed it was Brandon but didn’t turn to look. She stepped forward and grabbed Henry’s will from Cromwell’s hand to read it for herself. The room full of advisers fell silent as she scanned the parchment, confirming what Cromwell had read. She noted Henry’s signature at the bottom, and the royal seal that was affixed to the page. Henry had indeed created this will, but had never told her about it.

If she didn’t do as the King commanded, she was to give up all of her land holdings as the Marquess of Pembroke. Henry must have known she would never agree to do that, because without any land, title, or money, she would never be able to afford to visit Elizabeth at Court and maintain her station as Queen of England. 

She clenched her teeth and locked eyes with Cromwell, who was wringing his hands but otherwise made no outward sign that he realized how angry she was.

“Fine. Have it arranged. I will agree to the King’s terms,” she spat as she shoved the parchment at him. 

She turned and stormed out of the room, her black dress billowing behind her as people jumped out of the way and whispered _your Majesty_ in her wake. Brandon was by the door, and he kept his head bowed as she walked past.

She didn’t even acknowledge him. There would be time enough for that after the wedding.

\----

On the morning of her second wedding day, she cursed Henry for writing what he had in his will, and for not telling her his plans.

She’d already argued with her Father, and Cromwell, hoping for some type of loophole whereby she could remain Marquess if Brandon was named Godfather of her children, or if the child she was carrying became Brandon’s ward. Her arguments fell on deaf ears, as the wedding planning had been well underway by that point.

She was completely powerless to change the conditions, and it would accomplish nothing even if she figured out why exactly Henry thought that Brandon would be a good father to his children. Brandon had one son of his own, and even though Anne had never met him, by all accounts there was nothing remarkable about him. It seemed that maybe Henry had only arranged such a union to rankle his wife and his best friend. Maybe he was looking down and laughing at them both. Anne had never known Henry to be intentionally cruel without cause, but she didn’t doubt that sometimes his intentions were less than noble.

The only silver lining was that Elizabeth would be there, in a golden crown made just for her, to watch over her mother. She was already so smart and kind for a three year old child, and Elizabeth knew that she would make a wonderful Queen. At least Henry had seen to it that their daughter was well taken care of.

She smoothed the shiny red silk of her wedding gown over her large belly.

“It will be okay, darling,” she murmured to her unborn child. “I will make sure of it.”

\----

Because she had done everything she could to stop it, and because she knew that Brandon wanted this wedding even less than she did, she walked down the wedding aisle with a clear conscious. The only feeling burdening her heart was grief, but she knew that would likely be a constant companion with Henry gone.

Once she reached the end of the aisle, she turned to let Brandon lift the veil off her face. She had almost decided against wearing a veil altogether, but she had already insisted she wear St. Edwards crown and the red dress from her coronation. She refused to follow every wedding tradition, if only to spite Brandon. She wanted to be clear that this wedding was not of her choosing, and the man at the end of the aisle was going to be her husband in name only. 

She lifted her chin as the veil slipped out of Brandon’s fingers, and was surprised to see Brandon’s blue eyes gazing at her softly, almost reverently. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and the moment was broken, but she thought about that gaze as the Archbishop started the ceremony with a prayer. 

Anne knew that she was still quite young and that many people at Court desired her, and she also knew that Brandon was notorious for having a voracious sexual appetite. But still, her relationship with him had always been one of cool tolerance at best. Their differing political and theological opinions necessarily made them at odds, tugging Henry in different directions. And she knew Brandon had been jealous of her for taking up Henry’s time and affections. She did not trust the openness she had seen in his eyes.

When Brandon repeated the marriage vows to her, his voice sounded strong and sure, without a hint of sarcasm. Anne was surprised, wondering what game he was playing with her. 

The Duke of Suffolk was many things. He’d even become quite the diplomat once he learned when to hold his tongue. But being a skilled liar was not one of his noted talents.

The rest of the ceremony dragged on, having lost its appeal now that the words seemed untrue and unnatural to Anne. She was only taking the vows because of her love for Henry, and yet she was being asked to pledge her life and her heart to another, and that made the words of loyalty she repeated extremely ironic. She kept glancing over at Brandon, seeing nothing of Henry in his face.

He had his head bowed humbly, his eyes fixed on the Bible that the Archbishop held open, instead of her. Brandon’s hands were clasped together, and his shoulders were relaxed as he let the words of the ceremony wash over him. Henry would never have been so still for so long, and would have already looked over at her with a teasing smirk at least once. 

Brandon seemed to be at peace. With what, she could not have said.

\----

There had been much debate about where the newlyweds should spend their wedding night, but since Anne was due to birth her child very soon, she was told that she could sleep alone. She was glad for that decision, but the compromise was that they would spend time together at the Duke of Suffolk’s estate after the baby was born.

Brandon did not have to wait long. Two weeks after the wedding, Anne doubled over in the sharp pains of childbirth. She screamed for her ladies to call the physician, and hobbled to her bed, careful to avoid the puddle of liquid on the floor.

She was bolstered by the fact that she knew what to expect this time. She grit her teeth and breathed as he lay back on the bed, and pushed all thoughts of Brandon from her mind as she focused on securing England’s future for the Tudor legacy, even though Henry wouldn’t be there to see it.

Later, when the physician put her son against her breast and she held him for the first time, she wept. She pressed her lips to her son’s head, and named him William. And when the wet nurse tried to take him from her, she refused. She was going to do her duty the way she wanted to. She was the Queen of bloody England, and there was no one who would dare dispute that now.

\----

Anne arrived at the Duke of Suffolk’s estate just as the late afternoon sun was starting to slip below the horizon, and the large stone home was cast in a pale orange glow. Lady Madge was in the carriage with her, holding William who was swaddled in soft white blankets.

Even though the house looked large and noble and rather inviting, Anne was already focused on leaving. In a week’s time, she and Brandon would both return to Court and Anne would be able to return to her old room and possessions. Anne already missed being near the flurry of people and activities, as Court was always busy. Elizabeth and her entire retinue would be arriving back at Court soon, and Anne wanted to be back by then. 

A hand reached into her carriage as the door opened, and she accepted it and stepped out. She was surprised to discover that Brandon himself had come out to escort her inside. She had assumed that she would not see him until dinner was served.

“Your Majesty,” he said with a nod of his head. She curled her fingers delicately on top of his offered hand as he led her towards the large wooden front door. Anne glanced back to make sure Madge was following with William, and then turned back to Brandon.

“Your Grace, I would have thought you had plenty of servants to attend to your affairs, considering how much the King has paid you,” Anne said somewhat sarcastically, curious to see how he would react.

“Yes, but there are some affairs I would rather attend to myself,” he answered easily as he opened the door for her to walk through. She stepped into the brightly lit but sparsely furnished front hall, and quirked an eyebrow at his quick reply.

“Ah, and you find opening doors in the middle of the day stimulating?” She quipped as she beckoned for Madge and William to follow her inside.

“Not quite, Your Majesty. There are occasions when I find your presence stimulating, however,” he teased. Anne was slightly taken aback at his brazen tone, but she found she didn’t much feel like reprimanding him. Instead, she laughed lightly and waited in the foyer for someone to show her to her room. 

“Maybe this visit will not be as dull as I expected,” Anne commented as he looked back at Brandon, who was still holding the door open for her Ladies from the second carriage to walk inside.

His blue eyes were sparkling with something like mischief, and Anne allowed herself a moment to thank God for the fact that at least Brandon was neither simple minded nor unattractive.

\----

After showing her to her room, she didn't see Brandon until dinner was served. He sat at one end of the long wooden table and she sat at the other. She watched the way Brandon’s servants moved around the room quietly and confidently, unafraid and unassuming. They didn’t make eye contact with her or their master, but they did not keep their heads bowed or keep their eyes on the floor, either. This was markedly different from the way servants acted in front of Henry, and Anne thought their behavior lightened the atmosphere, as usually such formal dinners were stiff and tedious affairs.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace,” she said before taking a bite, meaning it. It was a pleasant surprise to be treated to the formalities of a large bedroom and a well-planned dinner, and she was glad Brandon seemed to be rising to the occasion.

He nodded at her, then raised his fork to his lips delicately. 

“Your Majesty, you deserve all the comforts befitting your station. And since Henry has chosen me to be the one to provide that to you, I will gladly oblige.” He smiled without showing any teeth, and Anne couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or simply stating facts. She felt her blood rising as she realized there was no one around whom she knew well. She could very well be at Brandon’s mercy, and she tried to think of a way to reassert control.

“I will expect to feed William myself sometimes. And I have brought my books with me. I expect to be able to keep on reading them,” Anne said as she glared at Brandon, daring him to reprimand her.

Instead, he huffed out a small laugh. His smile was wide and genuine this time as he looked up at her. 

“Of course, Your Majesty. Please feel no pressure to change on my account. Just don’t expect me to read the books that you like to read,” he added with a wink.

She surprised herself when she laughed, glad that he was willing to make light of their differences instead of becoming angry with her. She knew he was no lover of the kind of theological free-thinking or State sovereignty that she believed in, but maybe that didn’t have to mean they had to be bitter enemies when inside his home.

They continued on eating mostly in silence, but Anne felt herself relax as she looked up every so often to catch him watching her.

\----

That evening, Anne fed William and handed him to Madge so that he could be swaddled and put in his cradle. She lay back against the pillows on her bed, her arms crossed in thought. She’d been given a tour of the grounds before dinner, and her Ladies had safely stowed the few belongings and clothes she’d brought with her. Now, it seemed that she had nothing else planned for the remaining six days. Even more worrisome than that, she did not know what Brandon expected of her.

If he expected her to go to his bedchamber, he hadn’t sent word. But then again, she was the Queen. Maybe he didn’t think it proper to tell her. 

And if he didn’t expect that of her now, when the whole point of this visit was to consummate their marriage, than possibly he never wanted her. Maybe he considered her sullied and beneath him, even though she had felt a small spark of connection over dinner. 

She hated the waiting, the not knowing. She hated even more that she so doubted herself that she craved some kind of positive confirmation. She thought about how two months ago, she would have asked to speak with Henry. He would have listened to her fears and her hopes, but only if he was in the right mood. It was then that she realized her new husband’s station was beneath her own. She could demand answers if she bloody well wanted to. She didn’t have to wait for him to want to speak with her.

She pulled on her purple silk robe and slipped out of her room, her footfalls loud to her own ears as she walked down the dark corridor that led to Brandon’s chamber door. When she opened it, he was sitting upright with just a thin white nightshirt on. It was untied, and the opening at the collar revealed his dark chest hair. He startled when he saw her, and dropped the book he was reading. 

“Your Majesty? Is everything all right?” He asked as he threw back the covers and got out of the bed.

“I wanted to speak with you,” she said in her most commanding voice. He quirked a brow at her, apparently confused. She spun around to face away from him, her hand on her hip as she contemplated the best way to say what she wanted to say. Gathering her resolve, she turned back around to look at him as she spoke.

“Would you still have me?” She asked. 

His eyes widened as he took a step towards her.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid I don’t understand what it is that you are asking,” he said gently. 

“I am your wife. I think you know exactly what I am asking.” To emphasize her point, Anne walked over to the bed and sat down on the soft white sheets. Brandon's lips were parted as he watched her for a moment, and then his gaze hardened into something fierce as he walked swiftly towards the bed.

He leaned down over her, his arms bracketing her in place. He was so tall that she did not have to lean back to make room for him, but his face was so close she felt his breath upon her lips.

“You recently had a child, Your Majesty. I had assumed there would be a period of recovery,” he whispered, and then pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She felt her body tremble from the contact. She wasn’t surprised by it, not with the way he had leaned over her, but her body tensed nonetheless. And his non-answer was doing nothing to put her at ease.

“You might think I’m unworthy of being your wife after had two children, or after I’ve been had by another, even if he was the King. But I would rather know now, Charles Brandon. Because I am tired of games, and tired of constantly worrying for my future, and tired of my husband looking at every pretty woman at Court, and I am just so tired…” she broke off as her voice wavered. Suddenly her chest felt tight, and she struggled to draw in breath as she clutched at her heart. Everything she had just admitted had been true, and the weight of those truths was bearing down on her. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding so much back, but now it was like the floodgates had been opened. Her grief bloomed in her chest and she slumped forward with a gasp, terrified of what was happening to her. She became vaguely aware of Brandon gripping her arms. She tried to draw in a breath, but found that she couldn’t. She struggled for air as deep, silent sobs wracked her body, and she clawed at the bed sheets, just trying to hold on to something. She squeezed her eyes closed as panic washed over her.

She heard Brandon’s voice through the fog, and tried to focus on the words he was saying. “Anne, Anne. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You do not have to prove anything to me here tonight,” he murmured against her ear. 

She opened her eyes after what felt like an eternity, and realized he had his arms wrapped around her, his body warm and solid against hers. She breathed unsteadily, but it felt as if her body was returning to her control. Tears were still falling from her eyes, but she wrapped her fingers around Brandon’s biceps and pressed her nose against his neck, happy that she was not alone. 

“Henry always believed you were his truest friend, and for that reason I fear you have been forced to share my bed,” she murmured after a moment, her voice rough.

Brandon pulled back enough to gaze at her with such terrible sadness that Anne’s breath caught in her throat. But then he shook his head, and pushed her hair back from her face with his fingertips.

“Henry was always hard to understand, but believe me when I say I do not think this is as a great a punishment as you think it to be. I believe Henry could have done much worse.” His voice was light, like he meant the last part as a joke. He smiled, and Anne found herself smiling back, and then they were both laughing the kind of hiccuping, carefree laugh that reminded Anne of the days before her life was dominated by Court politics and Kingly pleasures.

“And you can stay here tonight, if that helps you. I am not such a monster that I would make you fend for yourself, no matter what you might have heard about me,” Brandon said, once they both caught their breath. He still hadn’t removed his arms from around her shoulders, and she leaned towards him, feeling calmed by the strength of his arms and the steadiness of his voice.

As she considered staying in his bed, she realized there was no harm in it. Anne had never liked sleeping alone. Here, in Brandon’s home, there would be less gossip, and less need to adhere to strict Court rules. But even if there was gossip, he was her husband. Taking emotional support from her husband was something she was allowed to do. In fact, this was something Henry had given his blessing for. 

Besides, she felt emotionally exhausted from all she had admitted, and from her sudden panic. And the wet nurse would take care of William the next time he awoke, so Anne allowed herself the small comfort of staying with Brandon instead of going back to her room.

“It seems that you may make a good husband after all, Charles,” Anne said as she disentangled herself and pulled back the sheets. Anne’s eyes widened when she realized that she’d used his first name.

“Oh, so it’s Charles now?” He teased as he stood up and retrieved the book he had been reading and placed it on the table next to his bed. 

“We’ll have to see how tomorrow goes,” Anne quipped, glad for the way Brandon was able to put her at ease with his teasing. She got under the sheets, and pulled them back further for Brandon to crawl in next to her. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel his body heat as it radiated off his skin. 

“Welcome home, wife,” he murmured as he blew out the candle on the side table.

“Thank you, husband,” she answered as he lay her head back against the pillow, which smelled of him. She let his steady breathing lull her to sleep, grateful for his kindness above all else.


End file.
